MISSING LINK

Chapter 8

While the party continued downstairs, M/n made his way up to the attic where he was staying. He let himself fall back onto the bed, engulfed in the faint spotlight cast by the moon. He stared up at the window where the light came in and sighed.

"I don't know what to do..." he muttered.

Nothing's how I remember it... Everything about this place has changed...

"It's suffocating..."

M/n turned onto his side, hoping that he could fall asleep soon. But as he did so, his gaze fell onto the boxes in the corner.

That's right... I never finished looking.

He quickly got off the bed, abandoning all plans to sleep. He flicked the light on and sat down on the floor. Carefully, he began grabbing boxes and opening them. There were old books, toys, decorations, clothes, stationery, CDs, and more. Eventually, he got to the last box. He ripped it open but was disappointed to see even more dusty decorations.

The (h/c)-ette sighed heavily and pushed the box away. "She really did throw his things out..."

The thought both angered and saddened him. He sat in defeat, trying to accept the fact there was no memory of his father left in the house. He looked back at the boxes and started putting them back. Just then, a pile of looked-to-be pieces of carpet caught his eye.

He inched closer and removed the carpet pieces to reveal a very worn-down cardboard box. The signs of wear made it obvious that what was inside had been tucked away for a while. It sparked some hope in him. 

As he opened it up, his heart began to beat loudly in his chest. He removed a piece of fabric covering the contents and gasped.

Inside, there were a few books, folders stuffed with papers, and, above all else, his father's treasured compass. It was an old thing, but it carried a lot of sentimental value. 

M/n had found it with his father during a small exploration trip when he was younger. He was glad that it was still safe, despite the minor damages it had suffered earlier.

M/n opened it up, watching the little needle move. He traced the dents and scratches with his fingertips, glad that it still worked despite everything it had gone through. It relieved him to know that at least one piece of his memory was still there.

His attention then moved on to the books, or rather, journals stacked inside. He set the compass down carefully on his lap and opened up the first journal he saw. Inside, there were rough sketches of scenery and animals of all sorts. 

Next to the animals were short descriptions and labels of the different parts. Seeing those drawings triggered a memory in M/n's mind.

"Dad! I found another bird."

"Yeah? Where is it?"

"Up there," M/n pointed, "Close to the thin branches over there."

The man's gaze followed M/n's directions until he finally laid eyes on a bird with dark-colored feathers. "We haven't gotten that one yet, right?"

He flipped through his journal and saw that the boy was right. "Good eye, M/n. Let's draw it a picture," he said, flipping to a blank page.

M/n looked over the worn page. The edges were either bent or ripped and, even though the sketch was a little faded, it still remained there, capturing the appearance of the bird they saw that day. 

He closed the book and gently set it down as though it were made of fragile glass. He continued to look through the journals, reliving the memories as they came to him.